Field Effect Principle
by Smoltenica
Summary: Harold chances upon Eustace Clarence and studies his diagrams of the Bardeen/Brattain close-point diode transistor. Cue fatherly musings and a short bout of father/son bonding. set between "The Silver Chair" and "The Last Battle".


Harold stood in the doorway, a smile tugging at his lips.

Before him, his son lay slumped against the study desk, the lamplight still glowing in the early morning light. There would be creases in his cheek to match the creases in the page from the book he was lying against, and beside his half-curled hand lay a pencil that had clearly rolled from his grip when sleep had finally visited.

Taking a step closer, Harold saw the neat diagrams of transistors. A separate page labelled, "Processes of Electron Mobility", featured a set of diagrams showing the flow of electron currents (or lack thereof) depending on the placement of contacts within semiconductors. It shouldn't have surprised him quite so much to see this; Eustace Clarence had always shown an aptitude for scientific concepts, though his interest in entomological collections was a thing of the past (something Alberta constantly mourned).

Yet it did surprise him, just a little. Perhaps it was that his son had, of late, discovered some Scotsman named MacDonald and had on more than one occasion seen fit to quote his ridiculous statement. _"I write not for children, but for the childlike, whether they be five, or fifty-five, or eighty-five", _or else it was similar to that. Ridiculous. He and Alberta had stayed up very late that night discussing this disturbing new development.

It was a strange thing, really, to be concerned about one's son. For all intents and purposes, Eustace Clarence was the ideal son; pleasant, hard-working, well-liked by his peers, talented. Yet he and Alberta _did _worry, worried constantly that Eustace Clarence would not fulfil the potential he had shown as a child. _Well-liked _did not equate _ambitious _or _successful_- and if any child deserved success, it would be Eustace Clarence.

"_He could achieve so much," _Alberta would say, a small troubled thread pulling at her words. _"He used to be so ambitious." _

He knew what she would say, then; something about the Pevensies.

"_They're your nieces and nephews, they're your side of the family," _he had joked once, but the look Alberta had given him was so filled with reproach that he had immediately quietened and had not raised that point again.

Or, _"If only you had brothers or sisters," _Alberta might say, and once or twice Harold had had to bite his tongue to prevent himself from demanding to know how long he should be punished for having committed the crime of having been born an only child.

"_You have a brother," _he had pointed out once last month. _"He is a university professor." _

Alberta had snorted and drained her cup of tea. _"And he's married to a flighty, vapid woman who raised her children on fairytales." _

Personally, Harold felt that Alberta was a little too harsh on Helen. She was certainly prone to flights of fancy, and he couldn't dispute that she had very clearly raised her children on fairytales. Certainly, she was not usually the first in a company to engage in profound or intellectual conversations. Yet he wondered whether Victor, a clearly intelligent man, would have been able to live so happily with a flighty, vapid woman for over twenty years.

He glanced again at the diagrams. The lines were clear, the labels neatly spaced. Eustace Clarence had a very even hand.

Almost tenderly, he pulled the papers from under Eustace Clarence's arms. His son gave a small grunt and buried his face into the crook of his elbow, but did not wake.

"_Point-contact diode: provides electrons over the depletion region. Small number of electrons needed __in the right place__. See Shockley's field effect principle. Q- application of voltage pulses leads to low resistance. Anomaly- possible solution? If resistance is evenly spread there is no current (see Bardeen and Brattain's latest article)… voltage pulses a possible way of controlling this?" _Eustace Clarence had scrawled, followed by a set of rather messy diagrams Harold could not discern.

"Da- Harold?"

The bleary croak startled him, and he nearly dropped the paper.

Eustace Clarence had somehow awoken without his notice, his arms propped up against the desk and his head leaning at an uncomfortable looking angle upon his hands.

"Clearly you slept well last night," Harold said, wondering whether he was attempting sternness or humour.

Eustace Clarence yawned through his grin.

"Harvey let me know about the latest patent for the transistor- if they find a way to make it more reliable it'd be swell," he said, his voice still thick with sleep. "Controlling _electrons_-" he shook his head. "It's jolly well amazing. Do you know how _tiny _electrons are, Dad?"

In the silence that followed, Harold was sure he would have heard an electron drop, no matter how tiny.

"Harold, I mean, Harold," Eustace Clarence quickly said, clearly flustered. "Dad- I mean, Harold, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to- I mean, I was just- and then it- DaHarold- it just-"

There was a curious sensation that was taking place as Harold recalled that moment.

_Dad. _

"_Could you explain it for me?" _he heard Alberta ask, exhasperated.

_No, _he thought in wonder, as the sensation spread, _but it feels- _

_(right). _

"Eustace Clarence," he said slowly, and his son sank into an abashed silence. "This is the first time in years that you've called me- Dad."

Eustace Clarence writhed, his face somewhere between the colour of a tomato and a beetroot.

"I'm sorry," he squeaked, miserably, but Harold shook his head.

"I- I rather liked it," he said, and as soon as the words came out of his mouth he knew them to be true. Eustace Clarence looked as though someone had shot a wave of electrons through him. "Just this once," he quickly amended, hoping to salvage his senses before the strange sensation could spread further, or become too deeply entangled with his values _(biases). _

_And where did that come from? _

Eustace Clarence, however, was beaming.

Harold nodded, the thickness of his throat halting the formation of words that flailed and faded in his mind. He quickly thrust the papers back at his son and gave a brisk nod.

"They're good diagrams," he said instead, inwardly wincing at the unusual timbre of his voice.

Eustace took them, his beam giving way to a slightly puzzled look.

"Thanks- Dad," he said, hesitantly.

Then somehow, words forced themselves through the cloud of unspoken, half-thought phrases.

"You're a good son," Harold found himself saying. "I'm proud of you."

Then he quickly turned down the hallway, wondering how sketches of a flawed scientific design had descended into the haze of confusion through which he walked.

_A/N: Written for OldFashionedGirl95. This is the first time I've tried playing with Harold's voice, so criticism will be appreciated! _


End file.
